The three sisters sat around the battered kitchen table, each lost in their own thoughts. Apart from the steady ticking of the clock, and the occasional bleep of an aged appliance, silence prevailed. Despite that, anyone who happened to look in on the scene would have stopped for a longer look. If it were a man, he’d have stopped hoping for a damn sight more than that.

The first sister, Penny, sat with her legs curled under her. There shouldn’t have been room on the chair for her to sit in such a position, but Penny was the flexible one. The ways she could curl her legs had impressed many a man over the years. She wore tight, black, slightly frayed jeans, and an equally as tight tee. It should have been black too, but it had been washed so many times it was almost grey. This was made all the more obvious by the fact that Penny’s raven hair fanned her shoulders, reaching to the small of her back. She sighed slightly, brushed her hair over, and behind, her ears, before fixing her emerald eyes on the picture in front of her.

The second sister, Rachel, the youngest by three weeks, had her legs crossed under the table, her flowered sundress perfectly demure, just skimming her knees. She looked like sunshine and happiness, the sort of girl you couldn’t help but like even as her perfection grated. Her blonde hair was curled like a fifties movie star, and her limpid baby blue eyes were serene. Everything about her screamed innocence.

Rachel knew her job well, and she too had her gaze fixed on the picture laid before her.

The third sister, Lyra, oldest by five months, had her legs sprawled over the side of the chair, so that her feet rested on the spare. She was barefoot, dressed in tiny denim shorts and a scarlet halter neck top. Her huge mane of copper hair—which...